


In All It's Bitter Tragedy

by RisingShadows



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Come back to us, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisingShadows/pseuds/RisingShadows
Summary: Ahead on the plain an oak tree towers.Will is so very tired.
Relationships: William Schofield/William Schofield's Wife (mentioned)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27
Collections: 2nd devons writing challenges





	In All It's Bitter Tragedy

> Ahead, on the plain, an oak tree towers.  Untouched.  On the high branches, leaves dance in the wind.

Ahead on the plain, an oak tree towers. 

Will can’t tear his eyes away from it. 

Lieutenant Blake’s words echo in his ears, odd and twisted. Forgotten the moment the man closed his mouth as if he had never spoken. Will can’t bring himself to care, not with the sharp pain that has built so slowly in his head. Not with the dull ache that fills his hand, creeps up his wrist to wind around his shoulder, his chest. Like vines, thorns pulling at his skin forcing the air from his lungs. 

He can’t tear his eyes from the tree as his breath leaves him in a shaky exhale. As he struggles to remember what he should do next. There is something he should be doing. Some task that needs completing. 

He watches the leaves in the wind, watches the sunlight filtering through the branches. Feels the warmth on soaked skin, the wind pulling at his jacket. The elder Blake turns away and Will can breath again. Can breath when he knows that the disappointment he knew waited in blue eyes is turned away. Focused elsewhere as Will fights with his own pain, grief. A loss he doesn’t want to comprehend. 

_ “Am I dying?” _

Will wonders if it would have been better, if he had taken the knife. If Tom had been the one to continue. 

He wouldn’t have had milk for the baby. 

_ “Yes, I think you are.” _

It’s odd to consider that through the pain in his head, the ache in his hand. But he doesn’t have time to lose himself on that train of thought, on everything that might have gone differently. No the Lieutenant has turned away, and Will knows he must have given an order even if Will can’t remember it. 

He blinks, around him the world sways and Will waits. Clenches his hand and drives his thumb into the source of the ache in his palm until the pain washes through him and leaves him shaking. Blinking his eyes open once more wondering when he’d closed them as he watches leaves dance in the wind. 

Ahead on the plain an oak tree towers.

And Will stumbles towards it. Branches arching onto the sky, swaying with the breeze. Untouched by the war around it. Behind him, he can hear men screaming. Behind him, he can hear the echo of shells and gunfire. The wind brushes against his face and he stumbles, another step and he is closer than he should be. His limbs moving of their own accord, his mind turned away from the world around him, from the pain, the grief. 

His feet move, his legs carry him. His arms sway at his side and he wonders briefly, how he is still standing. How he has made it this far. How he walked from the lockhouse, from Ecoust, from the girl and her babe. From the river where he nearly forgot, where he nearly let the water take him. Too exhausted to fight any longer without the reminder of what he was fighting for. 

Around him the world twists, sways, his vision dark around the edges as he moves. Tall grass brushing at his calves as he stumbles, lays a hand against the bark of the tree. Warm from the sunlight as he slides down, settles. 

His head falling back against the sun warmed bark as his hand rose slowly to pull his tin from his jacket, considering it with heavy eyes. A reminder he had kept tucked away, hidden from himself for so long. Fumbling for a moment as he popped it open, he slowly lifted the pictures from the safety of the tin, laying them against his knee. 

For a time he looks at them. A smile drifting across his face as she looks back. Their girls, smiling back at him. She was always the stronger of them, the one who could stand tall in the face of anything. Who would not bow as he does under the weight of his ghosts, of so many dead boys and dead men. Both by his hand and by others. 

She would stand tall where he stumbled and fell. 

Elizabeth Schofield had always been the stronger of the two of them, the one to bring their girls into this world. And the one to raise them when he was here, among so many dying men. Elizabeth wouldn’t falter, not now. Not when their girls relied on her, if there was one thing he could count on, it was her. Her strength, her resilience. 

Like the oak he leaned against, like the stone walls that refused to fall in Ecoust. Like the girl, with the babe safe in her arms. With fierce eyes even as she looked to him in the firelight. 

He blinks, looks out and finds himself staring up at the face of the Lieutenant. The older Blake slowly lowering himself to one knee, laying his hand on Will’s knee as his attention drifts. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, the sun has presumably risen and sunk in the sky and Will has no idea how long he has been here. No idea how much time he has lost to this haze as the hand on his knee tightens and Will turns to blink slowly into eyes that remind him far too much of a dead boy. Of blood on his hands and a promise. 

_ “It’ll be dark by then.” _

A hand on his shoulder, leaning him slowly forward as another hand brushed at the back of his head and Will couldn’t help but wonder when it had left his knee. His eyes settling on the grass between them, trying to ignore the pain that had drifted away for a time. 

_ “That won’t bother me.” _

The ache in his ribs, his lungs, his hand, had never gone away. The slightest twitch of his fingers bringing a fresh wave of agony up his arm as the other soldier frowned. Spoke, words mixing with the wind, with the echo that had filled his ears since the lockhouse, as Will watched his lips move and let his head fall back. 

Eyes sliding shut as the soldier murmured a curse, and stopped. Slowly maneuvering himself to sit beside Will instead. Allowing his head to settle on his shoulder as an arm wrapped around his shoulders and his eyes slid shut. A soft hum the only response he could muster as the soldier spoke. 

“You’ll be okay, William. Will, come on now, just sit with me a little while longer. 

The other mans voice blending with wind in his ears, the calls he could still hear from the casualty clearing station, the distant echo of gun fire and shells from the trenches All of it a dull echo that washed over him. As if he was floating once more, as if the river was dragging him under. His hand trapped in the warm grip of another and a voice echoing in his ears, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of everything else around him. 

"Is there, is there anyone you would like me to write to?" The Lieutenants voice was soft, cutting through the echo in his ears where before it had simply blended into the low hum that filled his ears. The hand tightening around his as he turned to look down at him. 

"El, El. Please, my wife she needs to know-" Quietly the Lieutenant shushed him. Gently tightening his grip around his shoulders as he shook, his hand tightening as well as he could around the other mans. A desperate plea not unlike the one he had received.

The plea isn’t surprising, isn’t any different than so many other soldiers Joe has met. Has done the same for. 

"I'll write to her, first chance I get. I'll make sure she knows." 

Against his shoulder the man’s head twitches, nods as he drags in a breath. The soldier speaking in a whisper as Joe listened, quiet enough that Joe was forced to lean closer to hear him. 

"I promised, I promised a letter. To your mother-" breaking off with a ragged gasp for air the other soldiers shook against Joe's side. A tear streaking down his cheek as he blinked slowly up at him. 

A letter to their mother. A letter telling her what Tom had said, his last words to them. 

"What were you supposed to tell her?" His voice is a whisper, hoarse and broken. The grief he’ll have to lock away soon enough audible in every word he says. 

"That he- he wasn't afraid. That I was there, that I held him. I didn't leave him I promise I didn't leave him-" 

He’s lying. Joe’s held enough dying soldiers, boys no older than Tom to know he’s lying. They’re always afraid. Always begging you to say they weren’t. Always begging for that last bit of peace, for them, for their families. Their mothers, their sisters, their sweethearts at home. 

"I'll tell her, I'll tell her." This time there was no response. The almost imperceptible twitch of the soldiers hand in his. 

The head resting on his shoulder was a weight Joe thought might shatter him. The hand he still held in his limp as he blinked down at it. Blood crusted in his nails with the dirt and grime that any soldier in the trenches had. Against his side, the soldier shifted. A soft gasp of air that was nearly imperceptible as his eyes fluttered open. Looking out over the field as Joe shifted him slightly to one side. 

Waiting as the soldier let out a soft hum at the movement. His hand tightening ever so slightly around Joe’s before his grip faltered with a soft gasp and the almost unnoticeable twitch of the other soldiers shoulders. 

Joe didn’t fight it. Didn’t bother calling over the stretcher bearers when he knew that sometimes, sometimes it was too late. Sometimes the soldier held on just long enough to finish their task before they couldn’t go any further. 

The Lance Corporal leaning against his side had stopped shivering, soaked clothing still clinging to his skin and Joe was trying his best to ignore the blood on his fingers from where he’d probed as gently as he could at the back of the other mans head. 

For a moment, he listened to the quiet rasp of the other mans breathing, for a moment he looked out across the field and let the tears that had been building out. Letting out a shaky breath as they let trails in the dirt and blood on his face. 

Against his side the soldier stilled. The pictures that had been in his other hand sliding free as fingers already loose went slack. Something peaceful sweeping away the exhaustion Joe had seen earlier. 

He would’ve liked to have actually had the chance to thank him. Now that he’d tended to his men, to those he could at least. Now that he had the time to grieve before he would be called to serve again in an hour or so. 

Against his side, the weight was almost too much. Too still and too silent as Joe let out one last shaky exhale, his eyes sliding shut for half a second. This was the only time he had to grieve, for his brother. His men, for this soldier. 

This soldier who had risked so much to save him, his men. The entirety of the 2nd Devons. 

Slowly, Joe reached out. Lifted the pictures that had fallen into the grass, glancing down at two smiling faces. A pair of girls, the second picture a woman. A wife. A single request scrawled on the back. 

_ Come back to us.  _

“Look after him for me Will, I’ll make sure to watch over yours as well.”

_ Dear Mrs. E Schofield, _

~~_ My name is Lieutenant Joseph Blake _ ~~

~~_ I am Lieutenant Joseph Blake _ ~~

~~_ You husband _ ~~

~~_ I regret to inform you _ ~~

_~~It is with sorrow that I write this letter, your husband, Lance Corporal Schofield~~ _

_ I knew your husband and I regret to inform you, if the news has not already reached you, that he was injured and later died on April 7th in carrying out a mission given to him and another soldier. I know that this news is the last letter you ever wished to receive, and I hope I can offer some small peace to you in the wake of this terrible news. I hoped to offer some insight into what exactly transpired on that day, as far as I know of it at the least.  _ ~~_ Lance Corporal Scho _ ~~ _ Your husband was a brave man, and a kind one. He was sent with another soldier to deliver a message to the 2nd Devons, even after the death of his partner he managed to succeed on his mission. In doing so, he saved 1600 men myself among them and my men. I owe him my life and so I would request that if you were willing, I would fulfill a promise I made to ensure your safety and happiness. He watched over my brother, the second soldier sent with him when he was felled and I watched over him in turn.  _

_ I wish I could help to soften the grief that this blow will cause, and should you have need of anything I kindly request that you write of it to me. I will see what I can do in turn, and I would request the chance to go one step further in completing his last request. When the war ends, I would visit if you would have me so that I may tell you what I cannot find the words to write. Your husband was a brave man, and a kind one, had he not completed his mission I fear that all of my battalion may have been wiped out and so I can only offer you my sincerest thanks and my sincerest condolences.  _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Lieutenant Joseph Blake _

**Author's Note:**

> The quote (and a few lines) are directly from 1917, and the script. Another prompt for the 2nd Devons, although I don't think I did that great with this one.   
> This was kind of sad to write ngl. I don't think that letter turned out as well as I would've liked but that was kind of the purpose of this entire fic so I don't want to get rid of it.  
> So, please ignore that most likely if he'd had to cross stuff out Joe would have just gotten a new paper and he probably wouldn't have known about Will's mission aside from what Will told him about Tom. I wanted the parallel between Will saying that Tom saved him and he held him and Joe sending the letter to inform Elizabeth of Will's request.


End file.
